How The West Was Won
by alwayswritewithcoffee
Summary: "I now pronounce us husband and wife," Castle mutters at her ear, waggling both his eyebrows and his hand to display a matching wedding band. Just like that, she's Kate Rodgers, newly wedded and undercover in the Wild West. (7x07 before Castle and Beckett became Caskett. Season Two AU.)
1. Chapter 1

_Sometimes I see a prompt and just know I've got to write it. Today, three different people put in a request for 7x07 taking place before Castle and Beckett were a couple. This is my effort to fill that prompt. This work is set in late season two, between 'Den Of Thieves' and 'Food To Die For'. Thanks to my friend and url twin on Tumblr, alwayswiththecoffee, for the _gorgeous _cover art._

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><p>To some people, a stage coach ride through a barren desert into an Old West town would be exciting, maybe even romantic. Those people wouldn't be focused on the grit and dirt that hangs heavy in the air, how it lays a fine coating of dust on anything that is within reach. Already, Kate's lungs feel thick with it and she wonders if she is destined to spend the next couple of weeks hacking up hazy desert sand, the tiny granules scraping her throat and giving everything from her morning coffee to a burger from Remy's the taste of sawdust.<p>

If you chose this spot for a vacation, the prospect of cramped quarters, horse drawn wagons and cowboys was probably adrenaline inducing. If it had always been your dream to play The Lone Ranger with your own personal horse and sidekick, you'd probably look something like Castle as the coach lumbers over a deep rivet that sends her jostling into him.

He pays her no mind, hanging halfway out of the stagecoach window, laughing like the nine year old sugar rushed little boy she'd pegged him as so many months ago.

They've been working together over a year, but that aspect of Richard Castle definitely hasn't changed. He's still very much a kid at heart, and on most days she's learned to appreciate the easily amused nature that he brings to practically everything.

On most days she hasn't been ordered to some godforsaken patch of the Arizona desert by way of a red-eye from JFK to Phoenix at the long shot of uncovering the mystery of her latest case.

"Beckett, this is amazing!"

Castle's chattering kicks up the same moment that the coach comes to an abrupt halt, requiring that she grab onto the window edge to ensure her body doesn't topple over onto the cramped floor. By the time she's oriented herself, he's out the door, eyes wide and still laughing in delight because, to the surprise of no one, pretending to be a cowboy in the wild west is just one of many dreams to which Richard Castle has always aspired.

Kate absolutely doesn't let herself dwell on the fact that in his obvious excitement, he's still thoughtful enough to extend a hand so she can exit their ride somewhat gracefully.

The fact she exits straight into a not-so thoughtful gift from the backside of a horse isn't his fault, even if she does want to elbow him in the ribs for the quip about good luck.

Good luck probably just ruined her favorite shoes.

"Great….just great," she huffs, more to herself than Castle, least of all because her partner certainly isn't listening. Her personal golden retriever has moved on from his galant assistance to an animated conversation that Kate knows she should be listening too. Instead, she's still trying to use the edge of a wooden board to scrape the gunk from her shoe.

"That's us! Rick and….Kate," Castle calls her name a little louder than necessary, one of those broad arms snagging around her waist so she's really got no choice but to follow wherever it is that he's tugging her (and she will remember to make him pay for that decision later) or to fall on her butt in front of an entire town of people.

She chooses to follow, consciously relaxing the angry grimace to a smile that she hopes radiates polite reluctance, "Rick and Kate Rodgers, here and ready for all the adventure of the Wild Wild West," Castle rambles on, smile far too excited and grip far too tight to be a coincidence, "We're newlyweds!" he adds, voice growing even louder at the proclamation, clearly an effort to distract people from the horror that Kate can feel sliding into place. It's taking over every muscle, morphing her expression into something that their greeting part - the badge on his chest reads James Grady - picks up on, "Newlyweds on our honeymoon!"

"You gonna be sick, darlin?" he drawls, angling his body backwards two steps as if she might become sick right there.

Kate isn't sure he's very far off, she's definitely dealing with a little bit of nausea that has tempered the raging inferno of anger that she's going to unleash on Castle at the first opportunity.

"Something like that," she mutters, drawing up the sweetest smile she can manage and casually sliding her arm around Castle's waist.

She doesn't even feel guilty for pinching him when Grady begins extolling the virtues of the ranch, brandishing brochures that they have no choice but to take. In fact, she gives a genuine smile at his yelp of pain, ignoring the wounded look Castle gives her in favor of encouraging the owner to continue with the rules and regulations of their home.

"Since you are newlyweds and all, we'll give you an upgrade to one of the suites in our hotel here in town," Grady says it for the compliment that it is, and unintentionally throws one more sour note into a morning full of them when she's forced to request the bunkhouse that they need access to.

"….uh, sure. Let me just take that up with my missus," the man drawls again, eyes telegraphing disbelief that two people would forgo the comfort of the posh hotel for the bare bones bunkhouses and what Kate now knows is a single twin bed.

As Grady walks to the edge of the platform to intercept a blonde woman in an elaborate blue dress, she makes her move, elbow poking sharply into Castle's ribs until he howls in discomfort and squirms away from her, "What was that for?!" he exclaims, the confusion in his voice dying off just a bit at her glare.

"Married, Castle? _Married_!" she's nearly spitting the words, arms drawn tightly across her chest while he attempts to sputter some defense. "Of all the stories you pick newlyweds. I'm going to kill you."

"In cases of murder among deceased husbands, the wife usually is the first suspect," Castle responds, fear of her glare dimming in his eyes to be replaced by that infuriating teasing twinkle and lopsided smirk that drives her insane on a different number of levels that Kate will not allow herself to think about.

Not now, not ever.

"Castle, I swear to God….." she can hear how much lower her voice is, how the words are being growled out at him as the tether of her patience grows shorter. But he's already fishing something shiny and small from his pocket, pulling her arms apart with an urgency that she only understands when her ears pick up the sound of boot spurs banging across the wooden platform of the general store.

James Grady is coming back towards them, and Castle is sliding a solid gold band on her fourth finger, "I now pronounce us husband and wife," he mutters at her ear, waggling both his eyebrows and his hand to display a matching wedding band.

"Looks like you folks are in luck, the room you want is available and my wife is happy to put you in there. Now if you'll just follow me we'll see about getting you outfitted good and proper," Grady tells them, giving a sweeping gesture towards the double doors with an encouraging smile.

"Come on, Mrs. Rodgers. Let's go shopping!"


	2. Chapter 2

She tries her best to be a good sport about it all when they enter the store, even though she's still reeling from the shock of the past few minutes. The wedding band that's been unceremoniously placed on her finger feels foreign, like a lifetime sentence that's an odd combination of horrifying and exciting.

_What_.

When the last word skirts across her mind, Kate stops so suddenly that Castle momentarily stumbles, using a well placed table to regain his balance. Very carefully he retracts his arm from hers, eyes flashing a bit of concern that she just can't be bothered with right now.

It's not exciting to be saddled up with a wannabe cowboy in a pretend marriage. It's absolutely not.

The gold band on her finger feels just a little tighter to her overworked mind when Grady's wife, who has introduced herself as Daisy Mae, beckons for her to follow to the opposite side of the store. Already, Kate can see flowing yards of fabric and lace, white petticoats and bonnets, corsets that make her squirm at the idea of the restricted movement they would present.

Still, there's some small section of her brain that finds them appealing and she wonders what strapping one on might do for a figure built tall and slim like her own.

Pondering the merits of a corset have to wait when her blonde helper selects a lilac dress with navy trim from a hook on the wall, grin a bit too eager and excited for Kate to have to dash her dreams of floor length skirts and flowered hats.

"No, I'm sorry but I don't…" Kate pauses, scrunching up her nose to find the most delicate way to phrase her reluctance for a dress and neither offend the woman or blow her ulterior motive for being at the ranch, "That really isn't my style," is what she settles on, gritting her teeth for the untrue part of the story both at lying to a woman who seems very nice and that she even has to say the words at all, "And my husband really prefers something more form fitting."

To her credit, Daisy Mae isn't deterred. she still pulls a dress and all the undergarments and accessories, winking at her with the inclusion of two corsets - one black, one white - to the pile. And she doesn't say a word when she leads Kate to another section of the room, the options much more on target with what she'd choose for herself with lightweight shirts, cowboy boots, and a pair of leather chaps that she reaches for on instinct.

They remind her of her motorcycle gear, leave her itching to jump on her Harley and feel the wind pressing against her body as she roars down the highway, ends of her hair flicking over her shoulders where it peaks out from underneath her helmet.

The woman smiles at her once she's pointed towards a changing room, and Kate steadfastly ignores the dress that's still waiting. She's halfway through putting on her jeans, one leg in and one out when the chirpy voice of Grady's wife sounds just outside the partition of her room.

"So, Mrs. Rodgers, how did you and meet?" Daisy Mae is bright and cheery with her question, so much so that Kate feels bad for the string of words that threaten to curl out of her mouth. But it's not this woman's fault that her partner is an idiot, and she does her best to reign in her anger, stepping into the denim before she loses her balance and smacks her head against the paneled wall.

"Ummm…." she hedges, brain spinning quickly to craft a story that would work, "We met at a party." Rather harmless, and technically true.

"Oh, what sort of party?" The woman volleys another question at her while her hand is poised between the black shirt and blue shirt that are her choices. The blue is pretty, reminds her of the sky and seems to be calming.

Since Kate could use something to calm her down, she tugs on the blue one, "Work," she mutters in answer, fingers flying over the buttons. The sooner she's dressed, the quicker the questions might end, "Cas - Rick was hosting a party and I ended up going, meeting him there."

"That's just lovely," Daisy Mae drawls, "And now you are here and married. James told me you're newlyweds, I just can't believe you chose to spend your honeymoon with us! What was your wedding like?"

She's grateful that she can't be seen because the exasperated eye roll comes before she has a chance to tamp it down. It's the same sort of look Kate issues to Castle when he's being exceptionally ridiculous, usually rambling on about ninjas or the mob or alien abductions. Her body isn't used to having to hold back on her reaction.

But their wedding? She doesn't even want them to be married, and now some well intending person is asking for personal details that Kate's mind is struggling to create. She's not the writer, not the one who can craft a story off the smallest inspiration at the slightest prompting.

So she reverts to her gut, using instinct of what she'd want for an actual wedding.

Not that she thinks she'll ever get married. That train probably left the station when her mother was murdered or, maybe, when she signed up to become a cop.

"We….uh…." Her mind grinds to a halt for one terrifying moment where Kate is sure Daisy Mae will rip open the door and accuse them of lying. Really, no one could blame her because she's definitely doing a terrible job of selling the concept of newlyweds madly in love. But then it comes to her, the idea of her wedding in all its simple, elegant glory.

She absolutely does _not_ picture Castle as the prospective groom. For the most part, he's faceless and nameless. Except when Tom Demming pops in her head only to be replaced by a different set of blue eyes and carefully mussed brown hair.

_Damn it._

"Kate? You okay?" The knock is soft, the voice hesitant and concerned when it filters across the wooden barrier.

"I'm fine!" she replies quickly, pushing some enthusiasm into her voice, "Just lost in memories, you know how it is. It's so recent and still so exciting for me."

"How sweet," says her dressers voice, "You had some big ceremony didn't you? You seem that sort."

"No, not at all. Very small and intimate. Just family and a few friends," Kate answers, buckling the final strap on the leather chaps and quickly stepping into her shoes, "No big fuss. I suppose we could have done that, but it didn't seem right."

Daisy Mae murmurs some element of understanding as she exits the room, hat hanging from her fingertips. The woman's smile is enormous, full of joy that Kate struggles to reciprocate given how ridiculous she feels in this outfit and the emotional roller coaster that had been an innocent conversation.

"You look great," the blonde woman says, "Your husband will love it. Let's go show him!"

She follows on autopilot, trying to shake the vision of Richard Castle with his piercing blue eyes and bright smile directed at her from the end of an aisle that she's never going to walk in her life.

* * *

><p>He's still preening a bit in the mirror, adjusting the vest one way, unbuttoning it completely before doing them up again while Grady talks to him about gun laws and how his own personal six shooter is available for purchase in the ranch gift shop.<p>

Naturally he'd be able to do that here, and Rick finds himself wondering just what he'd have to do to convince Beckett that she should bring it back to New York as part of her own personal arsenal.

The light catches the golden band on his left finger, a reminder that it's unlikely she'll be doing him any favors in the near future. Even less if she somehow learns that not only did he craft the story, he accidentally blurted it out to Montgomery before they left.

By now, the Captain has definitely told the boys.

He's in _so_ much trouble. Maybe the six shooter could serve as protection from his wildcat of a partner. Ward her off with a loaded holster at his hip.

The sound of boots dragging over the floorboards are what alert him that she's about to make an appearance, the hesitant cadence enough to inform Rick that Beckett most certainly isn't pleased in her change of wardrobe. She turns the corner with her hands fisted together, shoulders slumped in resignation that impossibly serves to make her look adorable.

And hot. Those leather chaps are definitely doing it for him as he gapes at her, eyes doing a long scan from the tip of her cowboy hat to the ends of her brown and ivory stitched boots.

"This is like three different fantasies come to life," he blurts, the words out in the air and into the ears of both Beckett and Grady before he's even managed to clap a hand over his mouth.

Just as he expects, that muscle in her jaw goes to work, flexing with pent up frustration as Kate grinds her teeth. Grady is too busy chuckling at him to notice the way her eyes flash at him, and by the time the man has gathered himself, she's back to smiling politely and thanking their escort for his help.

Rick is almost sorry when Grady doesn't protest Beckett's request for the room key, handing it over with little more than a reminder of meal times. And he has to swallow down a clench of fear when his partner turns to face him, her eyes glinting steel and a little bit of malice when she links arms with him, "Come on, husband," Kate drawls, just enough hard edge to her voice to leave him having to not actively cower, "Let's go get ourselves settled."

He's rather proud that he manages to wiggle his eyebrows at her, to paste that smirk that's so often been his first defense onto his face, "Sounds kinky, I'm in."

Beckett's growl of frustration as they exit the store is just a bonus.


	3. Chapter 3

"So what sort of kinky, depraved things do you have planned, Beckett?"

Kate's reasonably sure that she wouldn't shoot him, but there's an undeniable twitch of her fingers towards the holster that usually sits at her hip. True to form, Castle hasn't let up with his litany of comments on their walk from the general store to the bunkhouses.

The current suggestion of kinky things she'd like to do is the third such pass, and she grits her teeth when sight of their door looms large with the 14 stamped into its center. Even when she pulls out Whitney's key and belatedly realizes it doesn't match, her partner continues to prattle on at her shoulder with that irritating lilt that is a dead giveaway of just how much he's enjoying all of this.

"Castle," she finally snaps when he makes a quip about putting her handcuffs to better use, spinning on her heel quick enough that he's forced to take a step backwards, "Not if we were the last people on Earth," Kate huffs, stowing Whitney's key in the extra large pocket of her chaps and busying herself with wiggling the actual room key into the lock so that she doesn't have to stare at the dusting of stubble that's along his jaw or the twinkle in his blue eyes.

"You wouldn't chain me up in the face of flesh eating zombies?" he asks, one of those large hands pressed firmly into his chest, "Wow, Beckett, I'm touched….really and truly touched." He even adds the pretense of wiping away a tear and a dramatic sniff that tugs one of her patented eye rolls as the lock finally gives and the battered door slides open.

"Keep talking and I'll rethink the kind gesture," she tells him, flicking her eyes in the general direction of her partner. She doesn't want to smile because this whole situation is beyond absurd and its easier to just remain grumpy and miserable but its hard to resist when Castle is giving her that self satisfied smirk because she didn't shoot down his overly imaginative theory that the end of the world will arrive with hordes of walking dead.

The tug at her lips comes anyway and she doesn't fight it, the soft quirk leaving the barest impression as one foot steps over the threshold of the tiny little room.

Bare bones doesn't begin to cover it. The place is nothing more than a pipe stove, two cabinets and a bed that Kate isn't sure she can fit on, much less Castle.

"...wow," comes the rumble at her side, and a quick glance shows that his eyebrows are knotted together in confusion and, potentially, worry. "This is….quaint."

"That's one word for it," Kate sighs, tossing the room key onto the top of the cabinet, of which a quick peek inside reveals little more than towels, an extra pillow and pillowcase and a worn, scratchy blanket that seems to be made out of wool. The need to be thorough demands that she check all the nooks and crannies, which means going to the additional trouble of unfolding and examining all the items. She even checks the seams of the shelves, slides the furniture piece away from the wall only to come up empty.

The yelp of surprise comes when Kate opens the second cabinet, followed by the sharp slam of a door and the repeated stuttering noises of Castle. He's convincing enough that she abandons her search, fixing him with an annoyed glare when he gives her nothing but a wild gesture towards the door, "What, Castle? Is there a dead body in the closet?"

"I-uh-no," he replies finally, hand falling to wrap around the door handle, "But there is a naked cowboy in the bathroom." Sure enough, one quick tug of the door opens to reveal a young guy with nothing on but a ten gallon hat at a toothy grin.

She can't help staring, eyes drifting down on their own accord before Kate remembers what she's here to do and jerks them back to his face.

"Howdy, I'm Tobias. Pleased to meet you!"

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><p>Ten minutes and an outfit later, Tobias is situated at the cramped table in their room with a cup of coffee that turns out to taste surprisingly good. He can't be quite twenty-five yet, all bright eyed and eager to gossip about Whitney and whatever trouble she managed to get up to in her stay at the ranch.<p>

Knowing that she was involved with a married ranch hand is the sort of lead that they can latch on to, the kind of thing that make Kate perk up and give Castle an excited grin that he quickly matches, slurping an extra long drag of his coffee.

"You know, I have to tell you that you do make an adorable couple but honey you don't have to be so shy. He's a good looking man and you married him!" Tobias says, flashing Kate one of those big, easy smiles that makes her stomach clench with nerves.

All undercover operations have tests, but she's got a sinking feeling this is about to take on a life of its own.

"Yeah, Kate, I'm a good looking, _married_ man," Castle echoes, his smirk not the least bit quelled by the glare she gives despite the soft tut the man across the table sighs at her.

"You can't spend your honeymoon in a fight. Whatever it is, you really should just kiss him and make up," the cowboy continues, nodding his head at his own advice before turning up the white tin cup and drinking the remains of his coffee, eyes locked on the two of them as if he's just waiting for her to follow his advice and make up with her husband.

She's absolutely going to kill Castle. Or leave him in the middle of the desert. Or both.

"I'm telling you, it's better to just kiss and make up. You'll thank me later," Tobias grins at her again, fingers tapping with excitement across the worn wooden surface of the table. "I can tell you love him honey, no use it playing it down for me."

That statement makes Castle choke on his own coffee, swallowing roughly against the hot liquid even as he decisively places the cup back onto the table with a scratchy rumble of displeasure at the burning sensation. "I…..it's not that simple," she replies both in an effort to maintain some resemblance of the truth and to keep Castle from spouting some story that she might have to live up too.

"Maybe it should be," comes the reply of the cowboy across from her, eyes flickering between the two of them with a level of suspicion that she doesn't want to see when they are nowhere near finding enough evidence or clues to who killed Whitney. Having their operation be exposed because she failed to convince one well intended guest is the last thing they need. Tobias has given them something concrete to investigate but in doing so, he's proved himself as an unworthy confidant.

If he leaves the room convinced they are hiding something, the entire ranch will know before dinner.

"Cas-" Kate begins to call his name before her mind has entirely made itself up, aware that he's keeping his eyes locked on the table, the slightest blush of what might be embarrassment adding a light pink flush to his skin. The increase in her pulse rate, the slight quickening of her breath as she leans in strikes Kate with a certain measure of surprise as she glances at him, fingers squeezing lightly at the well defined muscle that lurks underneath his western shirt, "Rick," she tries again, grateful that she's remembered their name change in the midst of it all.

Most wives would never call their husband by his last name.

It takes a moment for Castle to lift his eyes, but once he does she's struck a little dumb by the darker blue color. The flash of eagerness and want comes quickly when she meets his gaze, but its still there, shooting a flood of heat and adrenaline into her veins that has Kate subconsciously licking her lips, eyes flickering from his to stare at the full pillow of his bottom lip and ever so briefly imagining what it might feel like when pressed against her own.

Oh, God, she's going to kiss Richard Castle. All because some noisy cowboy can't mind his own business.

"Yes, Kate?" he finally asks, voice pitched lower than she thinks she's ever heard it. That little glint is back in his eyes, the slightest upturn of his lips enough to tell her that he's vastly enjoying this predicament of theirs.

She makes a note to punish him for that.

And she starts immediately, darting forward to crash their mouths together with enough force that he grunts in surprise, mouth opening in a way that provides her the perfect opportunity to sweep her tongue against his lower lip and skirt against the hard line of his teeth. What she doesn't expect is the counter move of Castle's hand gripping the back of her head, fusing them together in a battle that's less about convincing some stranger of an unspoken apology and more about sparks of chemistry and still simmering anger.

But when his tongue slips into the cavern of her mouth, lightly teasing her with the way he's exploring her, Kate almost forgets that she kind of wants to kill him for bringing her here and making her play the role of the dutiful wife.

She also has to remind herself not to moan in response to the way his lips are devouring hers, how possessive and right it feels to have Castle holding her like this.

Instead, she lightly bites at his lip, hard enough to make him hiss when they break apart, her eyes flashing mischief even as he runs the tip of that pink tongue over what Kate knows is now a bump in the formerly perfect flesh.

"Alright then, I guess that settles that," Tobias says, flapping his hands at the two of them without some of the frantic, hyperactive energy he's usually displaying. In fact, the man seems a little stunned and awed by their over the top display as he gets to his feet. "I'm gonna go find some chow, see ya'll later."

The exit he makes is hasty enough that suddenly the absence of a third party makes the silence tense and weighted. Kate has to steel herself to even look at Castle, already able to feel the hot flush of heat that surely means she's some embarrassing shade of pink. And to make it worse, she can still taste the coffee they'd just had and a hint of the chocolate Castle had purchased on their exit from the airport.

The grunt of surprise is burned into her brain now, as is the way his mouth fit against her own, how his hands had clutched her like she was both something precious and with a rawness that makes her a little stunned with just how much she wants to do that again.

"Um….." the second the word falls out of her mouth, Castle is on his feet, hands grabbing for used cups and the empty coffee pot. "Should we talk about that?" Kate asks while he scurries towards the jack and jill bath, comically juggling the items in his hands in order to open the door and avoid looking at her.

"No," he blurts it out quickly, the word high and squeaky in a way that turns the skin of his neck a deeper shade of red while he clears his throat, "It was part of the story. It didn't mean anything, Beckett."

Their gazes only meet for an instant, but its long enough for her to see the regret that he's trying to bury under a layer of nonchalance. It's a look she's seen before in some variation, though usually it's accompanied by the presence or mention of Tom Demming.

Just another reminder of the obvious crush he carries, of how tempted she sometimes is to give into the obvious attraction and chemistry that they share. But uncertainty and fear are her friends, the things which ensure that Kate doesn't put herself forward for the option of heartbreak, and they again reign her in across an empty stretch of the bunkhouse room they are meant to share, words clogging in her throat until Castle gives her a strained smile and allows the door to the bath to slide closed.


	4. Chapter 4

Research is the writers speciality, the thing that so often separates the good from the great. Through his career his various methods have been a point of pride for Rick, and in his gut he knows that his newly hatched plan to discover Whitney's mysterious married ranch-hand will be no different.

With one last scribble of a name onto a brochure, he's hurrying back to the general store front, Beckett's tall form easily noticeable even from the replica telegram office he'd ducked into for a bit of undistracted studying.

And breathing room. He's not too proud to admit that the taste and feel of his partners mouth has lingered, the memory of that little noise of hers, which his mind so desperately wants to label as encouragement, replaying on some absurd loop in his head.

But Rick also has a sneaking certainty that even if Beckett were interested in more than a partnership of the working variety, he'd have to get past Tom Demming. Since the robbery detective had appeared on the scene, she'd been little more than a ghost when not looking for a murder suspect by cutting out early, or spending rare down time absorbed in a text conversation on her phone. Even with those distractions, the robbery detective still manages to take a two floor jaunt to visit homicide at least once a day, sharing old stories about his days on the force with Esposito, discussing whatever niche subject that has claimed Ryan's interest, giggling over coffee (coffee that Rick had purchased specifically for the homicide division, no less) with Beckett.

More and more he's felt like an outsider. His role reduced to standing on the sidelines while his supposed partner builds theory and flirts with another man.

In his more morose moments, Rick has considered putting an end to his position as Beckett's shadow but he never can seem to manage it. Not when there are moments like now where she's leaning against the wall with her cowboy hat pulled low over her eyes to observe the crowd. He'd bet a decent amount of money that she's cataloguing suspicious activity, making note of who is a worker, who is a tourist, and if any of them are overly friendly with their interactions.

It's amazing what her mind can do, not to mention incredibly attractive. Just one of the many reasons he can't give her up.

"There you are, honey!" Rick shouts the words over the clomp of a horses hooves and the rattle of a wagon, hopping up onto the raised platform to drop a long, smacking kiss against the corner of her mouth.

Kate jerks away from him immediately, eyes wide and blazing with fire. One fist smacking lightly against his chest to push him back to an appropriate distance, "Castle, what the hell!" she hisses at him, the words maybe one step up from a growl.

Yeah, he'd miss teasing her too. There's a level of amusement that he derives from poking at the sleeping bear that so often is Kate Beckett which Rick doesn't think can be matched by many things in life. She's just so easy to work up sometimes.

"Just keeping with the cover, detective," he says, voice smooth when he passes over one of the brochures that Grady had given to them on arrival, "By now this whole town is aware that we are newlyweds on our honeymoon and its common knowledge that newlyweds can't keep their hands, or their mouths, off one another."

Those green eyes are dark glittering things when she pushes her hat back from her head, carefully folding open the paper and studiously ignoring him. "What exactly is this?" Kate asks, voice constructed to carry a forced note of excitement that's so fake he almost wants to laugh.

She's never been good at following a script, even one as improvised as this operation.

"My plan!" Rick chirps anyway, upping her with his own genuine excitement and the slightest bounce in his step, "We can't let people know you are a cop, so we're going to approach this like writers."

"You want us to procrastinate and make stuff up?" she questions, the words out in the air before he's really had time to draw a breath.

"What? No!" he exclaims, holding the withering, smirking look Beckett gives him for a full five seconds before his conscience gets the better of him and Rick deflates just a bit. "Okay, that happens on occasion," he concedes with a self-deprecating roll of his eyes, "But that isn't our plan. Our plan is to find our tall, dark and handsome ranch hand by taking a few classes."

With a dramatic flourish that's aided by the snap of his wrist, Rick opens up his brochure as Kate gives him an amused grin and glances down at her own for a quick study, "There are seven of them who fit the description Whitney gave to Tobias, our job is to determine which of them are married," he begins, "So we are going on a wedding ring search. You'll see that I've circled all the ranch hand possibilities for your convenience and I've also taken the liberty of splitting the classes up between us."

The self-satisfied grin is back on his face once she's allowed him to finish his explanation with nary an interruption.. By the time Beckett has looked up from her own guide, he's gotten one arm propped against the outside wall of the general store, eyes focused out towards the horses carrying various cowboys past them to destinations unknown.

He really needs to ride a horse before they get out of here. Maybe get locked into a duel with some no good bank robber, or save some damsel in distress.

"Castle! Why do you get all the cool activities while I get hog tying?" Kate asks, looking at him with a mild disappointment that manages to interrupt his daydreams of glory in the Wild West and almost make Rick reconsider giving her one of his assignments.

He reigns in that urge with a reminder of all the mornings she's shunned his coffee in favor of a pseudo-date with Demming, "Because this was my idea," he says with a shrug, darting forward to press his lips to her cheek as two cowboys lumber past them with long glances and sharp smiles, "Now see you later, darlin. I'm gonna miss you while we're apart," Rick adds, voice louder than usual so it will carry to the two men and whatever townspeople who are lingering within earshot.

He also scoots quickly out of Beckett's reach, giving her a hearty wave and blowing one dramatic air kiss just to the effect of seeing his partner attempt to school the scowl that is fighting for purchase across her face.

The expression doesn't win, lost just before he turns the corner as Kate releases a long breath and puts her phone to her ear.

* * *

><p>"Beckett."<p>

The chuckle that issues from the other end of the phone call is immediate, the matching guffaws of Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito only further irritating nerves that have nearly been pushed to their breaking point.

It's only 11 in the morning for Arizona time, which makes Kate wonder how she's going to survive this trip with one lump after another being tossed her way.

"Don't you mean Mrs. Rodgers?" Esposito asks around a fresh wave of laughter.

"Yeah, we were just sitting here discussing your nuptials," Ryan adds after a moment of dead space, his amusement ringing loud and clear across over two thousand miles of real estate, "and how happy you must be."

"Guys is this really why you called?" she asks, consciously making an effort not to allow her teeth to grind together. She's already certain that the tension holding court in her jaw is going to lead to one hell of a headache.

There's a certain amount of pleasure derived from hearing how she's sucked the joy out of their teasing with her all business approach, but Ryan and Esposito get right to it as they list the fate of the missing luggage Whitney brought from JFK and the trace evidence Lanie found on the body.

Wax covered cardboard, poison, an affair, and a mysterious key that belongs to some unknown door at the Diamondback Ranch. It makes little more sense than when they started.

"Okay, thanks guys, I'll be back in touch when we've found out more," Kate promises, finger poised over the screen to disconnect at the sound of Captain Montgomery. He's indecipherable, but years of training have deeply ingrained her response, "Sir?"

"I said how is married life treating you, detective?"

She's glad that her boss is back in the city because the eye roll and the four letter word Kate mouths to herself is certainly enough to have her written up for disrespect, "It's…..a surprise," she forces out, pressing her lips together at the Captain's chuckle.

"Beckett, it's all to get the job done. Don't take it so seriously. Solve your case, and have some fun before you come back home. It can't be that bad," Montgomery tells her, his voice now carrying that familiar brand of mentorship that has guided her homicide career for the past seven years.

"Sir, I've gotta go," she hedges, grimacing at the way her finger stabs at the screen to end the call. For a moment she waits frozen, convinced that her boss will dial her right back and ask what she's playing at by hanging up on him.

A full minute later, her phone remains dark, and that's enough for Kate to set out towards the hog tying class that's first on her agenda, mind full of her irritating partner and the taste of chocolate and coffee she'd gotten when they'd kissed in the bunkhouse.


	5. Chapter 5

The slap of the reins against the horses is meant to encourage them to go faster, but they've ended up with a stubborn pair. Like their namesakes, Ryan and Esposito only slow when Rick gives a sharp snap of the leather, Espo giving a long exhale of air that is close enough to his human counterpart that he chuckles, nudging Beckett in acknowledgement of it.

She only glares at him, lips pressed into a thin line that he can barely see as dusk approaches and the dazzling sunset that had burned bright orange, pink and purple dips behind the mountains to leave the blue and purples of approaching night.

Trapping his own short sigh, he gives one final lick at the reins, rewarded with another snort and the simultaneous jerk of eight hooves grinding to a stop.

"Guys, no, come on!" he groans at them, tentative with his yank of the ropes and the click of his tongue against his teeth that he was ensured would entice the pair to move. This time Ryan gives a disgruntled whine, pawing at the ground in what he assumes is the horse communicating his refusal to go any further, "Don't do this to me boys. Giddy up! Yeehaw!" Castle tries out several different words, multiple sounds, even lightly smacks at both of their behinds with the back of his hand.

Neither horse moves, instead dipping their heads to graze at the random blades of grass that have popped up along the dirt road.

"Any ideas?" Rick turns to Beckett with his most charming smile, one that slides right off his face at the roll of her eyes and huff of frustration. She's bailed off the side of the wagon before he's managed another word, boots crunching through the dirt until Kate's at the front of the pair. Whatever it is that he expects her to do, it definitely isn't to blow out a long breath and pull with all her might at the two horses.

Ryan and Esposito lumber forward for two steps with Beckett's effort, huffing in turn at her. It's only when Espo paws at the ground with agitation that she lets go and fixes him with an angry glare. "Just great," she mutters in his direction, loud enough that it carries easily to his ears.

He hates that he can feel embarrassment burning his cheeks; but that's as far as Rick lets it go. He refuses to apologize for commandeering a ride to the Yavapai reservation. Not only had he been following her instructions, but the trip had yielded a reasonable lead that tied in to the latest intel from the boys back at the precinct.

But Castle does hold himself back from climbing off the wagon and going after his partner who is busy kicking rocks and holding up her phone for a signal as the first silver rays of the moon begin to flicker between tree tops as it rises. Even in the distance with questionable light, he can see the scowl.

"You'll be happy to know there's not a signal," she snaps after a few minutes of silence, further pressing at button of his frustration that's been on a slow simmer since a particular robbery detective strolled onto the Homicide floor, "We're stuck until Cagney and Lacey decide to end their strike."

"Beckett, it's not like I asked for this to happen," Rick replies, aware that his voice has taken a hard edge, "In fact, all I've done since we got here is try to solve this case and follow your instructions."

"When do you _ever_ follow instructions?" she asks around a hollow laugh, her lips twisting in a way that he hasn't seen since those early days where he had taken residence as her shadow. It's just another reminder of how utterly useless he is to her now, how easily his role in her life and her work has been replaced. And there's a part of him that wants to lash out, to yell at her about how betrayed he feels at her attraction and openness with Tom Demming. All he's ever wanted was a chance to prove himself as more than the sidekick who fetches coffee, spouts off some good ideas, and makes her smile with a well timed joke. "Case and point, these two clowns who have gotten us stuck because you wanted to play cowboy instead of finding an actual vehicle!"

She's got her arms crossed over her torso, a manufactured shield of armor to protect herself from whatever defense he might toss her way.

"I wasn't playing cowboy!" Rick exclaims, aware that his voice has taken on that high pitched whine, "I was doing what you asked, finding us a way there out of the available choices; none of which included anything with an engine, I should add. And I've been backing you up by being your partner the entire time we've been here! Not that it's been good enough lately." It's mean spirited but he's not sorry when the truth slips out, lifting a weight off his shoulders as Kate takes a step backwards, eyes wide with surprise.

"What are you talking about?"

Her question makes him sigh, one large hand sliding over his face, "I don't know, Beckett. Maybe I just feel like I've outstayed my welcome." Rick tries to make it nonchalant, giving a shrug of his shoulders while she stares at him with her eyebrows drawn together. Normally that little crease of frustration between them would make him smile because he usually finds it cute. Today he just can't look at her, turning instead towards the back of the wagon.

She follows him without preamble, boots stomping across the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust that he thinks might choke them both. "You had no right to drag me out here or to force this ridiculous cover story on me!" Kate tells him, voice brittle with anger and what he suspects are nerves now that she's decided not to hide behind the endless layers of subtext that have made up almost a year of working side by side, "We could have been friends out for a fun trip, or work partners here for some sort of retreat that's meant for team building."

"Anything but two people who care for one another," he supplies when she begins to stumble for other plausible scenarios for their undercover operation, "Anything to keep you from having to admit the truth," Rick doesn't say it with any heat to his voice, just a soft resignation that makes her flinch with the quiet honesty that he can feel down to his bones.

Part of him thinks he could have taken it, that he could have manned up and pressed on if she'd never reeled him in with that casual flirting or those cautious teases that enraptured him and made his stupidly hopeful heart agree to wait for the possibility of more.

There isn't more. They're work partners, the kind destined to get along well and share a drink or two after a long case. That's all she wants, all Beckett will ever let herself see him as.

And she has Demming. An actual cop with a sharp intellect and a teasing nature that can fill the void. Rick doubts that she'd even miss him if he walked away.

"The truth?" Kate snaps at him, one short bark of laughter flying out of her mouth as her hands lift to rest at her hips, "All you have done from the day I met you is disrupt my life!" she yells, voice thick with emotion that feels equal parts anger and fear.

He forces himself to count to ten, gives himself that much time to allow the anger and hurt to boil over and then retreat. It leaves Rick feeling empty, hollowed out like he hasn't felt since those early days after granting Gina a divorce. He had tried so hard back then too, had done everything to rebuild a relationship that already had cracks in its foundation. Too little, too late.

"Yeah, well, that never seemed to be much of a problem until Tom Demming arrived," he murmurs, pushing away from the wagon with a sigh as he turns to face her. She's shaking with what he suspects is anger, her face highlighted by the glow of a moon that's now risen above the outline of the mountains and peeks through the trees that line the road they're standing on. "So is the disruption because he makes you happy, or is it because he doesn't make you happy enough? Because if we're gonna bring the truth into this, you've been pushing me away for weeks. Demming is just the excuse, and only part of the cause. So why is that? The answer is the real truth. Not whatever manipulation of it that you've convinced yourself of, Beckett."

Kate holds his gaze with a stubbornness that so often dictates their investigations, her warriors spirit refusing to bend until justice has been found and her moral convictions satisfied with giving a victim justice. Usually he'd admire that trait in her, but right now he just wants to reach out and shake Beckett, scold her like a child for hiding behind that emotional armor that always keeps her out of his grasp.

Instead he shrugs, ending their stand off with the gesture of nonchalance that he doesn't feel. Rick's grateful for the modest acting skill he inherited from his mother that allows him to make the motions believable even though there's no comfort to be found in handing Beckett a victory that makes her shoulders crumple with defeat.

She's settled herself on a large rock when he tugs himself back onto the wagon, digging out the two feed bags that the ranch hand had shown him before he'd been allowed to commandeer the thing. Fifteen minutes later, Ryan and Esposito have been fed and drank their fill from two buckets of cold water from a small stream down the road, rolling along at a slow trot that's led by Castle's hand on their reins from the front as Kate rides up top.

After an hour, they switch, with only the minimum of communication to tide them over as they cross the remaining nine miles of Arizona countryside towards Diamondback.

* * *

><p>"What in tarnation happen to you two?" James Grady is spotless as he stands in the middle of Diamondback's Main Street bustle, fists planted on his hips while he surveys the wagon. Kate's envious of how clean and rested he looks, her body aching from a long night of walking down a rocky road in ill fitting shoes that weren't made for such a trek.<p>

She's sticky and dirty, dust caked in places that she didn't think possible, and its entirely plausible she might fall asleep standing in the middle of the street.

"We ran into a pair of stubborn mules," Castle replies, sounding far more cheerful that their night and their argument warrants. His arm drawing around her shoulders makes Kate stiffen in protest, one second away from flinging him off and giving her partner hell when the sun catches her wedding ring and makes it glow.

_Right_. Grady thinks they're married and they have to keep up appearances in order to finish the case.

"They didn't want to tow us any farther, so we walked the rest of the way," she informs Grady, orienting her body so that she's tucked securely against Castle's side, one hand splayed across his chest with a smile that makes her cheeks ache.

"That's quite a hike you two made," Grady comments with a chuckle, two hands roaming up and down the suspenders now on display as he tugs at them, "I expect you two need a long bath, some vittles, and a kip. So you go on, I'll get someone to take care of the horses."

Neither of them have to be told twice, Kate instinctively following Castle when he turns in the direction of the bunk house. They make it four steps before she stumbles, partially from exhaustion and partially from the rut that her tired feet go dragging across. In a normal circumstance, she'd find herself flat on her face, mouth full of dirt and a battle of embarrassment painting her cheeks bright red. Instead, Kate's saved from her self consciousness by Castle's broad hands tugging her up, large arms securing themselves underneath her knees and against her back, "It's alright, Kate," he mumbles, pink color staining the apples of his cheeks, "I've got you."

For once she doesn't protest. There's no demand that she be placed back onto the ground, no insistence that she can do it herself. Instead, Kate relaxes, one tentative hand brushing across his shirt as she smiles, "I know, Castle. You always do, even when I'm too stubborn to notice."

The words aren't quite an apology, nor is it an adequate way to express how sorry she is, but judging from the way Castle's smiles as they step into the cool shade of the bunkhouse hallway, it's enough for now.


	6. Chapter 6

The groan he gives is almost indecent, head bowed and arms flexed against the wooden stall meant to serve as the shower. The heat of the water falling from the shower head pounds against his aching muscles in all the right ways, beating away the tension like the massage that is sadly lacking among the amenities list that the Diamondback Ranch offers.

Rick briefly considers just taking a seat under the spray, allowing the water to beat off the sweat and dirt earned from a night trekking across the countryside. Now he understands why Kate had emerged from her own shower a little dazed, eyes blinking heavy with the pull of sleep. The rustic atmosphere aside this is a shower that, in this moment, might be better than sex. The water pressure is just right, and he grunts again when the rivulets of it pound against his lower back when he spins.

He stands underneath the spray until the water begins to run cool, rushing through scrubbing shampoo through his hair and soap on his body. He's still sore and tender in places but between the warm breakfast that a ranch hand had delivered and this magical shower, by the time he catches a couple hours of sleep he might just be a new man.

Sleep is a constant call; luring him back towards the room once he's dried off and dressed in pajamas bottoms and a t-shirt. Already Rick's body is relaxing in anticipation of dropping onto the mattress, closing his eyes and losing himself to a world of — the sight of Kate curled up on the single bed both fills him with disappointment and a little awe. In his exhaustion he had forgotten about the dilemma of their sleeping arrangement, and the sudden return of the problem leaves him shuffling awkwardly from one foot to another with indecision.

He's grateful that Kate's asleep for his little dance, and he certainly wishes that he could make himself do something more productive than stare dumbly at her peaceful face. Yes, he's seen her with the faint imprint of a pillow crease on her cheek, eyes heavy with sleep and hair askew but he's never seen her lost to a world of dreams.

She's possibly even more beautiful here, ringed in the halo of the morning sunshine that filters from the window.

With a small sigh, Rick begins the walk across the room to the cabinet that he knows stores extra blankets and a pillow. He can't go back to Grady and request for a room. Selling that he and Beckett had an argument wouldn't be that difficult, but the questions and concern it'd stir up from the proprietor and his wife aren't worth the trouble. If he were to go now, Rick would lie their undercover operation into problems; his brain far too mussed and exhausted to come up with any sort of well crafted story.

The exhaustion makes him a bit careless when he reaches inside to grab the bedding, the door slamming shut before he gets a hand on it. The slap it makes echoes through the room, loud enough to have Beckett stirring from her perch on the mattress.

"Cassle, whatreyoudoin'." The question is muffled, slurred and heavy with sleep but he still cringes, feeling a bit like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar right before dinner.

"I'm, uh, getting ready to go to sleep." His reply is soft, given with the hope that she'll simply drift off again. But his luck seems to have run out on that front; Kate is already sitting up, brushing away strands of her hair that have gone wavy where they have begun to air dry, staring at him with an expression that is as incredulous as it is frustrated.

He's managed to spread the thicker of the two blankets onto the floor, pillow tossed to the far end before she speaks.

"And you think you are going to get some actual sleep on the floor?" Oh, he knows that tone. That tone is the one she saddles him with on late nights at the precinct where he tosses out ever more insane theories just to see her twitch with annoyance. That is the tone that she uses for explaining to exceptionally stupid criminals all the reasons why they've been found guilty of murder.

It's Kate's voice of disbelief but, when he chances a quick peek at her face, there's no heat blaring in her eyes or a heavy purse of her lips.

In fact, this look is exactly the opposite of the one he knows. She's soft, even a little hesitant, though she's got her chin tilted up in some form of defiance. The trouble is that it doesn't sell, not with the apprehension that is coloring her eyes a deep jade green nor the way her bottom lip is being held captive between her teeth.

"Well," Rick cringes at the high lilt that escapes his mouth, hastily clearing his throat and sucking down a breath until he's sure he has control of himself, "I'm not sleeping up there with you." It's not so much about being the gentleman, though that plays a role, but more that Beckett has a boyfriend and…..

Well, its mostly that she has a boyfriend. A boyfriend who isn't him.

The huff of frustrated air that she exhales blurs the line between the soft glimpse of Kate and the steel shell of Beckett. He can still pick out the fear in the depths of her eyes and the way she's digging her fingers into the fabric of the blanket, but that in-control detective also emerges when she gives a hasty shove at her hair, "What is this, junior high?" she asks, "You can't sleep on the floor, Castle. Be a grown up and get up here, if we both sleep on our sides we should fit."

With that she rolls onto her left side, leaving the right edge of the bed open for his taking.

Rick convinces himself that he imagines the look of longing that passes over her face once he shuffles forward, snatching the pillow from the floor with the second blanket trailing behind him.

He manages to settle himself at the edge of the bed, arranges his blanket to create an obvious barrier between his body and Kate's, even stretches himself lengthwise beside her before his brain kicks into gear and his mouth goes to work, "Are you really sure this is a good idea? I don't want Demming trying to pound me when we get back to New York because I shared…."

"Castle," Kate's voice is a frustrated growl, the kind that leaves no room for argument and ensures that he grinds to a halt in his ramblings about her boyfriend and how this is inevitably going to make an already awkward situation doubly so, "Tom isn't my boyfriend, so what I do is none of his business. Now, please, go to sleep."

She's kidding, right? She can't possibly expect him to sleep with her casual bombshell spinning through his brain. But even without that nugget of information taking root the description of their sleeping arrangement being "tight" just might be the understatement of the century. Kate is already on the edge of her side of the bed, both his feet and his ass are hanging off of his and their thighs and chests brush with each slight shift of their bodies.

Sleep is the last thing he'll be getting. And, honestly, being this close to Beckett in this intimate position has him worried about the other things that might arise.

"Beckett, are you sure?" Rick whispers the question, aware at how her breathing has begun to even out and her eyes have again slipped closed, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"M'not uncomfortable," she sighs, nimble fingers reaching up between them to pat at his bicep, a contact that he feels zip over his skin like an electrical charge, "Sleep, Castle."

He's envious of the way she drifts off again, eyelashes creating black parenthesis against her cheeks and lips the palest pink. He just watches her, all the while knowing this is an opportunity he'll never get again outside this day and this moment. Sleep, as he expected, is slow to come, but it eventually does with his mind filled with the reality of Kate warm at his side

* * *

><p>For the absurdly tiny bed that she went to sleep on, she's really comfortable when her phone begins to chirp from wherever it is on the floor. As tired as her body was, and still is, Kate's tempted to ignore it, but it's probably the precinct looking for an update.<p>

Humming in protest, she extends her arm in the hope of locating the phone, only to find the hard muscle of a bicep.

She's proud that she doesn't scream in shock, but her eyes fly open with it, ready to fight off this unexpected bed partner and to get as far away from them as possible; preferably in the same breath.

The discovery and, at the same time, the memory of agreeing to share a bed with Castle relaxes her somewhat. The tension evaporates as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind the nagging anxiety of what that decision could mean.

Immediately Kate pushes it to the back of her mind. Right now, for these handful of seconds, her worries pale in comparison to the contentment that's filled her up.

It's actually terrifying how right it feels to be like this with him. Somewhere in their nap she'd snuggled up to him, one leg threaded between his and their torso's pressed together in part from the large arm Castle's slung low across her waist. Not only that, but he's literally lying half on top of her, Kate's arms folded between their chest and, she realizes with a start, even her fingers are curled into the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

She also now knows that her head fits perfectly in the space between his chin and shoulders, and she can feel the furious blush of heat across the apples of her cheeks at the realization that the patch of moisture she first took to be sweat on Castle's neck is more likely the result of her drooling on him.

If the earth wanted to employ a sinkhole on her side of the bed that she could fall into, Kate doesn't think she'd form much of an objection. This is absolutely as mortifying as it is…..well, _nice_.

Given the luxury afforded by Castle continuing to slumber on unaware, Kate gives herself a minute to analyze that word. She's used it multiple times in the past two weeks to describe Tom Demming. For Tom it was a run of the mill description. A way to address the complete adequateness of their connection. Yeah, she likes him well enough but, with every morning coffee and late night conversation they have, it's become clear that it won't be enough for it to last.

Tom is nice, but she's now come to realize his shortcoming. He's not Richard Castle.

And what that means scares Kate to death.

She's let out a shaky exhale of breath before she's realized it, the air tickling at the thin skin of Castle's neck. The way he tightens his arm around her makes Kate think he might be awake, but there's no flutter of his eyes or a shift in breathing and she forces herself to relax, resting her forehead at the stubbled underside of his jaw.

It's intimate. So intimate that she has the absurd notion of what it might be like to tip her head up just a fraction and kiss him for a second time, to see what it might be like when they aren't trying to set up a rouse or getting roped into it the contact while blistering with anger and frustration with one another.

Kate is halfway there, fingers poised midair with a plan to cup his cheek into her palm when her phone begins to vibrate again, the ringtone signaling that this time it is the precinct and, therefore, in her best interest to answer.

Groaning both in frustration at herself and the timing of the call, Kate rolls towards the noise. There's a moment of suspension where she realizes that she's made a grave mistake, her body already hovering at the edge of the mattress with nowhere else to go until she meets the floor with a thunk that's muffled by a yelp in the space before Castle follows her onto the wood floor.

_Right_. Arms wrapped around her. Gravity. Newton's Third Law of Motion.

Castle halfway on top of her, again. It's not a surprise that the bed was the more comfortable of the two.

"Whajusshappen?" Castle's still slurring his words thanks to sleep, even though his eyes are wide with confusion and shock. If he expected to wake up sharing a bed with her that definitely doesn't equal a similar position lying on a hardwood floor.

"An accident," Kate replies, diving for her phone that is scurrying across the boards. Propped up on one elbow it's only when she's huffed a breathless resemblance of her surname into the phone that she notices their predicament; namely that she can feel the obvious evidence of Castle's enjoyment of their close quarters nudging at her thigh and, in a dawning realization that makes her blush scarlet, that her opposite leg is curled around his hip to hold him there.

"Whoa, am I interrupting something? Please say I am," Ryan's voice is filled with glee that she barely notices, far too distracted by how her partner's eyes are a dark cobalt blue when they hone in on her face. She'd also swear that the temperature in the room has spiked about fifteen degrees, it definitely can't be the fact that Castle's on top of her and looking for all the world like he's about to lean forward and devour her mouth in one swift go.

The scarier notion is that if he doesn't, Kate very well might make up the difference.

"I, uh…..what?" Ryan's probably shouting her name in the middle of the bullpen by now with his attempts to gain her attention on the phone because there's a hint of exasperation mixed with his amusement once he picks the story back up. A letter in Whitney's luggage, a ranch hand name Clyde, something about a friend named Slim…..she can't really focus on the fine details, not when Castle's fingers are gently tucking wayward strands of hair behind her ears and exploring the edge of her jaw with a softness that leaves her wanting to tilt her entire cheek into his palm.

"Esposito is working on tracking them down now, see if we can shake out any information that might help you," Ryan's chirping along, his voice coming at her as if he's from a far away tunnel; probably because all of her attention is firmly on the guy in the room with her.

"And how is it going, by the way? We've been trying to reach you for a few hours. Montgomery was getting worried, he told me that if I didn't hear from you by 3 p.m. that we needed to contact the local sheriff and ask them to -"

Of all the things to get her attention, that one does it. Kate's eyes grow wide as she sits up, free hand falling to Castle's shoulder to hold him in place before she has to migrate up to his mouth to stifle the question that's forming on his lips as a back up to the burning curiosity in his eyes.

When she shakes her head at him, Detective glare firmly in place, he merely swipes his tongue against her palm in retaliation.

It's all the more annoying that its as gross as it is a turn on; probably because she's officially acknowledged the 'what if' portion of the scenario that goes hand in hand with hormones, anatomy, and a serious need physically satisfying beyond her solo efforts.

She's very curious if he can use his tongue for ventures beyond talking.

"Everything is fine," she says, forcing some cheer back into her tone at the same time that she reaches to tug at Castle's ear, "We're actually just about to track down a lead. Castle's spent all night studying about the Indian reservation near here and he might have something useful to go with that letter. Text me the details and I'll call you back."

She's hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed before Ryan gets another word in, both hands free to land two light smacks to her partner's chest. He's underneath her now, legs folded even while his arms band around her waist so that Kate's blows don't send them sprawling across the floor again. Its the first time that his fingers slip under her shirt, grazing her bare skin like a bolt of electricity that serves as a reminder to her own recent conclusion and her lingering fears.

And it recharges the room, enhancing that split second where they both knew what the other felt and replaying it like a movie reel until she has to swallow against it. "Castle, I….." she doesn't want to give him an excuse but, truthfully, they are all she has.

Or at least all she trusts herself with.

"Demming isn't your boyfriend," he replies, one hand bumping underneath her chin in encouragement for Kate to look at him, "That's all I need to know, Kate."

_Well_. Of the list of things she might have expected Richard Castle to say, that proclamation is admittedly low on the list and it shows in her expression. Without her permission Kate's eyebrows knit together, lips pressed into a line that doesn't have time to set with the pad of his thumb rubbing out the tension like an eraser, "It means I have a shot, and that's all I want," he explains it softly, a shyness to the admission that she's rarely seen from him in their months together.

This is the side that she is lacking, the person that she sees a glimpse of underneath the charming, man-child exterior. This is the part of Castle that makes her want to make the leap.

Instead, she toes the edge, fingers steady and slow as they scrape along his jaw and up into his hair. The path they mark is simple where it moves across his neck and shoulder, down the well defined biceps to his forearm and finally over the wide palm that accommodates her hand easily when she threads their fingers together.

By the time she squeezes his hand, he's beaming at her with the type of smile that leaves Kate's heart beating double time in her chest.


	7. Chapter 7

Settled at the scuffed table with coffee and his brand new iPad, Castle scrolled through the email Ryan had sent containing a shot of the letter and all the latest details on the contents of Whitney's newly found luggage.

_It all comes down to the mistranslation of a Yavapai word, aha gah hel'lah. I can hardly believe that one little old word is the secret to the Peacock Boys. As soon as I find it I'm coming on home to you._

Those lines tug at something in his brain that Rick knows he should be able to identify immediately, a predicament that he blames on a lack of coffee. The remedy for the problem is easy enough; another strong cup of the stuff poured into his tin cup, which he drinks with his chair balanced precariously on its two back legs.

At least until the bathroom door pops open and his partner strides out in head to toe black. All Rick can see is the impossibly tiny curve of her waist, and the impressive display of cleavage that spills over the edge of the corset. The glimpse of her creamy skin against the inky black material of her shirt just might kill him, and if that doesn't do it, he's definitely not going to survive the tight pants, the knee high boots, and the way her leather holster accentuates her hips and ass.

He isn't even surprised when he loses his balance, toppling onto the floor for the second time that afternoon, but this time he scrambles back to his feet, eyes wide and mouth open while he drinks in the sight of Kate Beckett in undoubtedly the sexiest get up he's ever seen.

"Eyes back in your sockets, Cowboy," she purrs at him, her voice falling just short of that stern Detective Beckett tone that she's shooting for. It draws out a smile, one that has Kate spinning on her heel to avoid returning the gesture.

That only has him grinning wider as he follows her out the door, the link between the letter and his familiarity with the Peacock Boys finally pinging into recognition once Rick crosses the threshold from their room to the bunk house hallway.

* * *

><p>"Cornelius and Percy Peacock," Rick crows in delight, brandishing the flyer pulled from a post near the general store with enough dramatic flare that Kate has to reach up and adjust her hat as his gestures knock it sideways, "Wanted dead or alive, with a thousand dollar reward for their capture. The local sheriff, or at least the guy posing as him, showed me one of these yesterday, told me to keep an eye out. I just assumed it was part of the lore; two actors dressed up to ride in and add some extra drama to the place."<p>

He says the last part with a negative tilt towards himself; the same sort of voice Castle gets in the city when they miss an obvious lead. It's so rarely their fault jointly in his mind, but always Castle putting the additional pressure on himself to be the guy that connects the clues and makes it all work.

Kate also suspects that he's measuring his worth to the team in the number of times he cracks something open for them. In some way, he's keeping score and, if she knows him at all, spends considerable time worrying when he's in a slump. As if ineffectiveness would get him kicked from the squad.

"Castle, ease up," she comments, one quick squeeze at his hand, "I'd have thought the same thing if the 'sheriff'," she even makes the air quotes as a method of supplication, pleased to see how his eyes spark with amusement at the gesture, "had shown me that flyer. This is an Old West resort that makes its money on its authenticity, you couldn't have known they based this flyer on something that actually happened."

At lunchtime the saloon is crowded with guests and workers alike, all of them eating their fill or sipping at drinks. The tables are full, the noise level high, but the barkeep they've come to speak to stands alone at one end, wiping the bar and people watching.

"Hello there," Kate begins with a friendly smile, stepping up to the bar in tandem with Castle. He wastes no time dropping the flyer onto the bar top, one finger punching at the space between the photos of the infamous Peacock Boys, "We were wondering what you could tell us about these two?"

Their bartender wheezes out a long laugh at the question, tossing his towel to the back of the bar even as he produces another from below and begins a methodical cleaning of shot glasses, "Looking for trouble are you, Missy?" he asks with a grin, giving a chin nod to the flyer, "Them's the Peacock Boys. Train robbers that held up the Southern Pacific back in 1893."

At the corner of her eye Kate can see how Castle's face has twisted with excitement, that little boy spark bleeding back into a body that's still tired and bruised from their long night. He's just short of bouncing in place with his eagerness, so like a puppy with his wagging tail and need for action. Reaching over for his hand is an instinct, her natural reaction to attempt to rein him in before they have all their answers.

She doesn't expect him to thread their fingers together and rest them against his thigh, or for her arm to tingle with the pleasant pressure of their linked hands. She definitely doesn't bank on having to fight a smile, or the dopey eyed look that he shoots her over his shoulder.

"What did they steal?" Castle addresses the man, voice colored with an interest that Kate knows is genuine. Not that she can really think when his thumb is circling across the paper thin patch of skin between her thumb and forefinger. It's probably meant to be soothing, possibly even sweet, but all she can think is that it's making her mouth go dry and stirring up a dozen different scenarios where he puts that finger to better use.

She's going to murder him.

"Lots of things, but the Southern Pacific robbery was their biggest heist of all. They made off with fifty bars of U.S. Treasury Gold. Outrun a whole squad of soldiers by traversing Deadman's Gorge, but two days later they were gunned down outside of Phoenix. Only thing was that the gold was gone," the man drawls it out with the sort of nuance that proves he's told this story hundreds of times to other tourists who come looking for information on urban legends like the Peacock Boys.

"And no one knows what happened to it?" Kate's proud that she's found her voice again, as off balance and breathy as it sounds. She just refuses to look at Castle, sort of the same way that her body refuses to untangle their fingers.

"There have been rumors, of course. Back in 1947 a missionary started writing down the stories of the Yavapai people. One of those was about a kid named Black Fox who had been abducted by the Peacock boys who forced him to be their guide. During the trip they stopped and tied Black Fox to a tree just south of the river and then they rode off with a wagon weighed down with those gold bars. They came back after a while, but the wagon was empty." He finishes the story with a long look to them both, elbow propped against the bar as if they are sharing some great secret.

A secret that Castle seems to have bought into.

"They stashed the gold!" He yells over the din of the bar, which grows marginally quieter for a handful of seconds before the patrons all return to their own conversations.

To his credit, the bar keep doesn't react to the outburst bar a slow shrug, "It would seem that way, but ever since that story surfaced this place has been full of people looking to unearth the secret of the Peacock boys and their buried treasure. No one has found it which is why this is just another secret of the Old West."

"Duke! I need a whiskey!" Four stools down from them a heavy set man with red suspenders and a black cowboy hat is banging on the bar with his glass, growling his order in the general direction of their conversation.

"See you folks later," Duke says with a tip of his bowler hat that leave Kate with the urge to laugh. And she does when the bartender shuffles a couple steps forward, "Shut yer trap, Dusty, you ain't gonna fall over because ya waited a minute for a shot."

"Kate, Whitney was after the gold!" Castle is hissing in her ear before she turns to face him, surprised when she does by their close proximity. In his excitement, Rick has taken the one step that kept them from standing right on top of one another, and now she's being treated to the royal blue flush of his eyes and the way they burn bright when he's onto something.

Between those eyes and the way that he's caressing her hand, it's a miracle she even understands all the words he's hurling out towards her about Black Fox, missionaries and incorrect translations of the Yavapai word for river. But she does understand because this type of thing, this theorizing foreplay that they do, is what she's wired for. Kate follows every excited syllable of Castle's latest theory with ease even as the swoop of need takes up residence low in her gut and her eyes get locked on the full pillow of her lips as they press together with the words of his speech.

"What if they didn't stash the gold near a river?" Rick asks her, the excitement of his voice dulling to something lower and far more intimate once he realizes where her eyes are. When she chances a glance up to his own, they're more navy than royal blue, that same lusty look from this morning that makes her a little weak at the knees, "What if they stashed it near a stream?" He finishes on a mumble, tongue darting out to wet his lips in the space before he lowers his head towards her own.

The thrill that shoots across her spine is no accident, born both of the memory of the last time they did this and the recent acceptance that it'd undoubtedly happen again. She's ready for it, tilting her head up to meet Castle's, mouth already open and waiting for that moment when his mouth claims her own and –

"YER NOTHING BUT A CHEATER, COLE JACOBS," the raspy rage of their previous interrupter is loud enough to silence the entire bar, though that only lasts as long as it takes the man to flip over a chair and jerk a far younger man up from his by the lapels of his vest.

It's also enough to spring them apart to a respectable distance, each of them blushing furiously with the realization that they'd surely be involved in a different activity altogether if not for Dusty and his issue with this other ranch hand.

"Castle," It takes Kate three tries and one frustrated shake of her head to voice his name, "Whitney had maps in her personal belongings, maps of this area and the Yavapai reservation. If you are right and the translation is wrong, everyone could have been looking for a river when the whole time it should have been a stream."

"They were looking for it in the wrong place!" They both say it at the same time, oblivious to the herd of ranch hands now trying to pull the two men apart on the other side of the saloon.

"So Whitney had the dynamite because she found the gold and needed it to blow up the hide out to retrieve it," Castle starts all over with his theory, tugging her towards the far corner of the bar by their joined hands, "But when you discover 50 bars of gold you can't exactly take it home in your carry on. So she left it where she found it and went back to New York for help!" They end up wedged in the corner, Kate's back against the wall while Castle towers over her, the hand not linking them propped beside her head in a way that's so territorial that she can't decide whether to kick him or kiss him, "But the killer found out and poisoned her to silence her and keep the gold for himself."

"She was upset when she left," Kate counters, so drawn in by the story and its possibilities that the grunts and shouts of a fully staged bar fight escape her notice. "That doesn't sound like someone who just found gold."

"Okay, you've got me there," he concedes, nose crinkled up with thought as the distant sound of cracking wood and a low groan rises through the few fighting it out next to the bar, "But if Whitney was searching for the gold and the killer just tracked her there then there could be clues!"

At that she does roll her eyes, a full blown grin playing at her lips even as her head begins to shake with dissent, "Castle, you're assuming that the gold is even still out there to be found." And it's adorable, she's not too proud to admit that to herself. Her partner is like a dog without a bone, scratching and sniffing in his desperation to find the crown jewel. "Clyde and this Dutch guy from the letter were looking for it, who is to say they didn't find it?"

"They couldn't! Not without the maps that Whitney had!" His voice has gone higher pitched now, that whine of protest that he adopts at the precinct when she and the boys usually put the kibosh on his more outlandish theories.

All she can think right now is that she'd just really like to kiss him, make him think about something besides gold for a little while, "You just want to go after the gold," Kate tells him, matter of fact with the truth of the thing.

"Of course I do!" Rick replies immediately, bouncing on his heels, "It's gold!"

This time she does laugh, a light wisp of a thing that sucks out some of the urgency Castle's tossing at her in his need for a treasure hunt. Instead, he goes for the offensive side, stepping back towards her body and the wall with a measured, slow move to plant one hand at the curve of her waist, "Look, Beckett," he begins, voice pitched low with a pop of the two t's at the end of her name, "If we use Whitney's research, we might just find her killer, too."

It's a logical assessment and the biggest lead that they have to go on, but Kate doesn't let herself give in that easily. She stays silent, puts her focus into keeping her breath measured and unaffected as he dips his head. The soft slide of his nose against her cheekbone is one thing, but it pales in comparison to the hot press of his lips across her jawbone and the sharp nip of his teeth against her ear.

She groans at that, pressing her eyes shut against the dizzying sensation of Richard Castle trying to seduce her into going on a treasure hunt, "Come on, Kate," he husks it against the shell of her ear, dark and tinged with something that's far more enticing that gold bars, "What do you say?"

Kate employs her silence again, her own mouth a little busy returning the favor of dropping two kisses against his neck to be bothered with words. And she doesn't hold back once she has a good angle on his lips, capturing the lower one with her teeth for the second before he meets her halfway, sealing their mouths together in a kiss that burns hot and fast. Somehow his tongue is sweeping across the roof of her mouth and she's knocked his hat onto the floor. She definitely isn't sure how one of Castle's legs ends up between her thighs but the last bit does make for an embarrassing moment when a hesitant clearing of a throat has them springing apart.

James Grady looks both amused and uncomfortable as he stands with his hands wrapped around his suspenders. Behind him, several people are uprighting tables and chairs and one of the ranch hands is carefully sweeping up broken glass.

Apparently in their conversation they've missed quite a lot.

"You might want to go back to your room for that bit," Grady says with a smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes, "We aren't that type of place."


	8. Chapter 8

James Grady swallows his shot of whiskey in one go, no trace of a wince or discomfort at the burn of the alcohol. It's the mark of a man who has done this a million times; lounging back in a wooden chair inside a saloon that's been ordered empty by the resort owner.

He'd said it was for Rick's privacy when shooing out the same barkeep that had broken the case open with his story. The bartender might very well believe the line, but there's something coiling deep in Rick's gut that mandates he remains on edge even while he tries his hand at faking a relaxed posture he doesn't feel.

Slamming down his own empty shot glass, he sucks in air through his teeth and tries not to grimace as the thick amber liquid burns a trail from his esophagus to his stomach. Personal aspirations of being a real live cowboy aside, he can't imagine having the wherewithal to do this day after day.

"So tell me, son," Grady begins, filling the two shot glasses to their rims for another round, "How exactly did you and your wife locate the mine? That story's gone round these parts for years. We get people in from time to time who want to take a run at finding some treasure, but they've never gotten close."

"We…uhhh…." he's hedging as much in deference to the active murder investigation they still have going as much as reluctance born from the glint in the man's eyes. Until now, James Grady had seemed amiable; a guy with an affinity for guns and the Old West but rather ineffective at enforcing any kind of law or threat despite the fancy gunslinging he'd shown off in the general store, "Lucky guess, really." Rick supplies.

It's a thin lie and one that the owner clearly doesn't believe from the sideways flash of his eyes. But he doesn't comment, choosing instead to down the second shot and slam the glass onto the table with a smack of his lips.

"A lucky guess?" he chuckles, "I'm a man who believes you make your own luck, son. If it were as simple as a lucky guess someone would have found the mine long before now."

The moment of clarity is sharp when it comes; so sharp that it takes effort not to let the surprise show on Rick's face. In their recounting of the discovery of a body on the ranch's property, they'd never discussed how it had been found in a mine. They had returned to the town, flagged down Grady and Daisy Mae who had called the sheriff.

"…I don't remember saying anything about a mine," Rick says, keeping his voice purposefully low even as his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket.

"That alcohol got to you already?" Grady lets out another barking laugh, "You must be a lightweight. Out there on the street your wife told us that you'd found a skeleton in a mine and…"

"Ryan!" his voice is unnaturally forced once he's fished his phone from the pocket of his pants, "They don't have phones in the Old West. You're killing the mood and my buzz," Rick adds a chuckle to the end, playing for time, hoping they can establish some sort of code. It's not that he can't likely handle Grady if it comes to that, but the man has a gun and he's seen how adept he is at using it.

"Castle, where is Beckett? She's not calling or answering her text messages," Ryan sounds equally worried and urgent, some note of color in his voice that usually pops up when they've gotten some unexpected information. The fear that spikes in Rick's brain isn't for himself then, but for the potential that she could be in some sort of danger. "But there is a third partner in this scheme between Clyde and Duke."

What if he's wrong about Grady? What if the Sheriff is in on it and he's unwittingly sent Kate off into a trap?

"She's on an ATV, probably can't hear her phone," he replies, proud of the lack of panic in his voice, "But the sheriff?" The last word does carry a shade of worry, Rick's baser instincts to protect his partner demanding that he bolt out the door and hunt Beckett down.

"No!" Ryan is even more urgent now, huffing out a breath of frustration, "It's a man named James Grady."

It's an odd sensation to feel more relief that Beckett isn't in danger than the absolute confirmation that he is sitting across from the man who killed Whitney and at least had a hand in killing her father. Rick doesn't get a chance to dwell on it, his phone tugged from his hand and tossed carelessly onto the floor.

Ryan is still chattering away when Grady's boot smashes into it; jagged fractures appearing in the glass of his iPhone. Between the clap of Grady's feet across the floor, he hears only silence from the phone. Not that it matters because the ranch owner is pulling at his jacket to expose the two six shooters that rest on either side of his hips, fingers wiggling with delight at the chance to pull the trigger.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," the cowboy drawls, unhooking the clasps on the left holster.

"Grady, wait!" The sight of the gun snaps him from his shock and up onto his feet, eyes already darting around the room to catalogue potential places to hide. The wooden tables probably wouldn't stop a bullet, but they're the best option available until he reaches the bar and the cover that it would offer. "If you kill me that's just another murder you'll be answering for."

Terrible grammar, he knows, but if Rick is gonna find himself in a duel then he's determined to go out befitting the name of a cowboy.

Another one of those wheezing chuckles, this time accompanied by a smile, "Not if I make it to Mexico."

"Now, I can't let you do that," he replies, one hand looping across to unhook his own holster for easy access to the gun within. Beckett had poked fun at him when he'd bought them yesterday; presenting hers with a flourish outside the store with some line about being a wedding present.

She'd rolled her eyes at him, but he knew her tells. That shadow of a grin had been all he needed to know that she'd liked the gift.

Now, he's glad that he has his own. It might just save his life.

"And you're gonna stop me?" The man scoffs, fingers firm where they grip the butt of his gun, "Come on, son. Sit down, have a drink, think of your wife. It'd be a nice last thought, wouldn't it?"

"If I'm about to die there's something I think you need to know…." It's the dark outfit that catches his eye; Kate's lean form creeping behind the swinging doors. She's quick, stealthy from years with all her cop training, and across to the other side in the blink of an eye. But Rick still sees the move in the reflection of the tin at the top of the bar and some of the fear loosens in his chest.

If Kate is here, nothing will happen to him. She won't let it.

"And what is that?" Grady sighs, one small eye roll the assurance that the man is quickly growing impatient.

"She's not my wife," Rick says gun out of the holster and his finger on the trigger before he gets the words out. Still, its not quick enough for their killer who has his gun pointed and a bullet sparking out from the barrel before he can let his own fly. But Grady's shot goes wild, embedded somewhere in the ceiling above them as his gun skitters out of his hand.

When he turns towards the doors, Kate seems to glow in the light of the afternoon sun, her face hidden in the shadow of her hat bar the slow flash of white teeth. Her gun is still smoking at the end of the chamber as she saunters across the saloon, eyes radiating a heat that leave him a little weak kneed, "He's right," she adds once she's standing over Grady, "I'm his partner, not his wife."

"There's a difference?" Grady cuts in, eyes locked towards the business end of Kate's gun from his position on the floor.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. James Grady, you are under arrest for the murder of Whitney Williams," she replies with one of those patented eye rolls, twirling her gun around her index finger before it slots neatly back into the holster.

It's smooth. Smooth enough that Rick feels his eyes widen and his jaw go a little slack.

"You shot it out of his hand!" Rick hears how he sounds like a little kid, but he can't help it. "God, you're so hot."

"Castle," she's rolling her eyes at him again, leading him aside so that Sheriff Conklin can haul Grady up from the floor and slap a pair of handcuffs on him, "I leave you alone for five minutes and you end up in a showdown?"

"I didn't plan to?" he replies with a shrug, "But I totally had him, Beckett. If you'd given me two more seconds….."

"You'd have gotten yourself shot," Kate deadpans, leaning forward to brush a chaste kiss against his cheek that does help to lessen the sting of the probable truth. And watching her hips sway as she follows the Sheriff to the waiting police car. That definitely helps.

* * *

><p>Manhattan feels like a foreign country when she steps into the terminal at John F. Kennedy airport. Screaming babies, voices intermingling in everything from cell phone conversations and intercom pages to the news anchors reading off the latest reports.<p>

A glance up to the nearest flat screen tells Kate that the Metro newscast has picked up the news of Whitney's murder being solved. Whitney Williams is grinning on the screen, bright and happy with a cowboy hat on her head in the middle of a dusty street that Kate now knows well.

Daisy Mae had insisted she'd keep Diamondback open, encouraged both of them to return to stay at a hefty discount whenever they wanted as thanks for their work. She'd had no idea her husband was a cheat and a murderer, but the woman had absorbed the news with far more grace and strength that Kate would have.

Or even had. She'd broken down completely when her mother had died. Over a decade later, bits of her still haven't recovered.

"Another case closed, Detective," Castle's grinning at her as he wheels both of their suitcases over from baggage claim, "Maybe my favorite so far."

She's already laughing before he wiggles his eyebrows at her, her top teeth clamping down on her bottom lip to stifle the noise. Not that it matters in a bustling airport, no one is paying attention to them and it's not as if they have people waiting to escort them home.

Tom had texted her to ask if he should before they boarded in Phoenix. Her negative response had been immediate; no hesitation or guilt in the two letter answer she'd given.

_I understand._

He'd been ready with his own answer, a quiet way to bow out of the competition in which he'd never stood much of a chance though she'd have been loathe to admit it a few days ago when her partner had hassled her into a trip with dirt, horses and cowboys. Now, standing in the middle of baggage claim, Kate can't think of another trip in her adult life that she's glad she's made.

"Yeah, you got to play cowboy for a couple days. It's every fantasy you've ever had coming true, Castle," she teases him gently, knocking her arm into his with a gentle chuckle that matches his own. It's not awkward standing like this, but there is something nerve wracking about not knowing what comes next. Diamondback seems ages ago, some break from reality and the lingering unspoken problems that are now crowding back in with the reappearance of a bustling city and millions of people who need to be protected or served justice when their life takes a premature end.

"Not every fantasy," he says quietly, voice pitched low for only Kate's ears. She expects some flash of lust and desire to be all over his face when she looks up, but there's only sincerity. It's what she feels when he reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, and what lingers in the smile he gives when Kate nestles her cheek against his palm.

"This could blow up in our faces….." Kate whispers it to him, suddenly realizing that the busy, nervous work of her hand is that of spinning her undercover wedding band round and round on her finger. Not only is she still wearing it, she's made a cross country trek without even realizing it. More than that, she can feel the cold imprint of Castle's matching one brushing along her cheek. It's not just her then.

It's still scary, making this decision, but the familiar weight of those rings gives her the confidence she needs.

"I'm terrible with relationships and you are going to get tired of my walls and…."

His lips are soft when they brush against her own, insistent and confident in a way that makes her melt a little. The endless circle of thoughts and objections dials down to white static that Kate forgets all about when she lists into the broadness of Castle's body and returns the kiss. It's as sweet as it is wanting, the sort of kiss that is meant to reassure and calm.

And it works. It works well enough that Kate holds on to him when they break apart, a silly smile threatening to make an appearance when his forehead brushes against her own, "A chance, Kate. All I want is a chance to show you how good we can be."

It's the same words that he told her in the bunkhouse, muttered with the same honest inflection that sends her heart stuttering in her chest. This close she can see how his eyes are a clear sky blue; open and reflecting back a bevy of emotion that is as thrilling as it is terrifying.

But if feels right. Standing in a crowded airport with a city of millions, or in a desolate Arizona dude ranch bunk house, Kate feels like she belongs with Richard Castle at her side.

So she leaps, tilting her head up to brush their mouths together one more time.

"We're gonna be great, Rick."

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this little story. I'd also like to again thank Nadia for her encouragement and the awesome cover art, as well as G, Nadine, Cathey, Ashley and the countless others who become personal cheerleaders for this thing in the six months it took to write it.


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